


Happily Hallucinating

by breatheforeverypart



Series: Hawkeye & The Barton Family [7]
Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Deadpool is fun to write, Gen, Injury Recovery, dumpster rescue, fluffy for me, typical Matt Fraction era Hawkeye angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-15 22:34:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29071848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breatheforeverypart/pseuds/breatheforeverypart
Summary: Deadpool rescues an injured Barton from the stinky confines of a dumpster in Hell's Kitchen.  Quirky dialogue and references to boo-boos ensue.
Series: Hawkeye & The Barton Family [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1758646
Kudos: 3





	Happily Hallucinating

**Author's Note:**

> Hi friends! This was a fun idea for a story that came to me a couple weekends ago and I decided to take the time to write it. Don't worry, I'll be back to write a multi-chapter Scarlet Witch saga soon.

***

Clint squeezed his eyes shut, the nausea intensifying. He swallowed hard, trying not to acknowledge the garbage juice making its way into his body’s nooks and crannies. The sudden urge to shower prompted Clint to take a peek at his surroundings. 

“Aw, no.” His mouth filled with bitter spit. “Not again.” Dumpsters were starting to feel familiar. He assumed to be somewhere in Hell’s Kitchen. The trash smelled right. How sad was that? 

Someone or something rubbed his inner thigh and tore Clint from his internalized pity party. Aliens? Some extra-terrestrial threat or Asgardian wannabe-god invading Earth again? He flipped through potential threats like thumbing through a magazine during a morning poop. 

No…that wasn’t right. The ringing in his ears obliterated his ability to understand who was speaking. Something was talking, but his blurry vision couldn’t identify the person beyond a fuzzy black and red thing. 

Daredevil was going to be disappointed he had ended another patrol among the cigarette butts and half eaten burritos. He must have kicked some criminal butt, because he was super sore. 

But, the fact that he couldn’t recall his night meant yet another concussion. Which meant, Laura and Nat were going to be furious. He was supposed spend his time in the city working a desk at S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters and consulting for Tony. Way too boring for Clint’s adrenaline seeking brain. 

“Sweet God of Death, your legs are…” The masked person whistled and squeezed Barton’s ass. He recognized the grip. Definitely not Castle, or Cage. “All you’re missing is spandex and a tragic backstory to fit in this universe.” 

The masked creature handed him a kitten. “Here. Can ya cuddle her? If she so much as complains, I’ll skin you alive. Her name is Charlotte.” He made kissy noises and nuzzled the creature with his stained mask. 

Oh. Deadpool. There was only one man who could be that passionately sarcastic while he was coated in a layer of brain matter and gods only know what else. “Where…is that…cat from?” 

Breathing through his nose hurt. Actually, breathing in general irritated every cell in his body. 

Clint sent a silent prayer to unknown entities that the fluffy pet had not been kept somewhere in Deadpool’s revolting suit. There had to be numerous flaps and such in the misunderstood vigilante’s notorious suit. 

“Yup! Respect the flerken.” It was creepy, but the eyes of the suit seemed to expand and contract along with Deadpool’s emotions. “I mean ‘normal’ domesticated pet. The better Captain will literally murder me if anything happens to this thing. I almost believe her too. That’s a crossover event Disney + would love to get their grubby paws on.” He formed the last phrase in quotations with his gloved hands. 

Clint’s concern grew when the vigilante’s hand disappeared from view. The dude spoke faster than Lila on a sugar high. And she had inherited her father’s sweet tooth, so that was impressive in itself. 

Hawkeye felt his underwear kiss his colon in a strange greeting as he was freed from his dumpster prison. There was no time to protest. Deadpool had serious body odor and lifted him with the usual complaints. 

The cat-adjacent creature pawed at his chest. He really didn’t want to take an inventory of his injuries, but the stupid animal forced him to acknowledge all the damaged nerves in his body. 

“Oh, you’re barking up the wrong tree.” He grimaced as the thing scratched at his nipples. “Aren’t you an alien or something? Mammals nurse.” 

“She’s just like Audrey II.” Deadpool gushed. He ignored Hawkeye’s rational comments. “Loves meat, the rarer the better. And in theory I can just feed her all my bits and bobs after I lose ‘em fighting crime.” He clapped before taking the angelic fluff-ball from Clint. 

Was his devilish savior speaking English? Probably. But even a fully caffeinated, well-rested Clint had trouble keeping up the manic vigilante’s thoughts. 

“I’m gonna need a whole…” Lot of medical attention. Soap. Patience. His head pounded in sync with a number of other injuries that protested as he squirmed on the graveled road. 

He squinted at the man clad in badly treated leather. Wade fucking Wilson. Naturally. Of course, he had found him, covered in a myriad of NYC’s finest gutter juice. 

Shit. He was talking. Or yelling. Probably ranting, again. Clint tapped his ear. Either his Stark re-enforced aids had finally bit the dust or his head injury was more serious than he thought. Neither option was good, but one involved infinitely less Tony. 

“So…what’s an underrated archer doing in a quintessentially damp city ally?” He gasped excitedly. “Is this the Team Red origin story? Fanfiction writers are going to lose their shit.” 

Deadpool winked at the camera. “Cursed with a near immortal existence and rock-hard abs. Well, mine are flabby. But you can’t tell cause of all the gnarly scars.” He popped finger guns. “Don’t ask. Check out my first two feature films for more of that sob story.” 

“Nope.” Clint shook his head and hissed as pain scorched his shoulder and spine. “You’re not real. I’m hallucinating.”

“Well, excuse me!” Wilson feigned shock. The whites of the suit’s eyes widened dramatically. He loved a project, and a bruised Hawkeye in a rust covered dumpster fit the bill. “Please share with the class.” He opened and closed his palms in a universal ‘give me’ gesture. 

“What?” 

“Your friend.” He lowered his voice. “I love anything and everything. Got a few frequent fliers of my own.” 

He mimed weighing options, or possible hallucinations. “Wanna see what’s in my pockets? Blind Al usually slips something in here when I’m not looking. That sneaky queen is always pulling some scheme. We’re a match made in hell, that’s for sure.” He laughed at what Clint assumed was a pretty fucked up memory. 

“Any-who. The mansion is chock-full of fascinatingly hormonally imbalanced teens.” Deadpool carefully placed the cat in a Lilo & Stitch plastic backpack and adjusted the straps over his katanas. “Colossus says I’m not allowed, but I’m one boom-box chick-flick reenactment away from smooching his cool metal c- “ 

“Stop!” Barton grabbed the front of his suit and bent at the waist. Moving made dark spots pop over his vision. Vomiting was going to be a truly torturous experience. Natasha would tease him for being soft, but secretly worry. God, he missed her. Why had he come to the city this week? 

“Relax Legolas.” Deadpool rocked back on his heels, suit squeaking in a suggestive manner. “I was gonna say cheek.” His voice shifted to a stage whisper. “Ass cheek. That USSR sculpted statue is…” He groaned in a way that made Barton blush. 

Clint retched and nearly blacked out. Consciousness flickered enough that he was able to count all of the ribs he’d fractured. 

“Ew. That looks gross. I know you’re rumored to be mostly caffeine and impulsivity...but that looks wrong.” 

Or at least he thought he had, before blessed unconsciousness dropped the proverbial curtain on his patrol. Clint couldn’t answer. He felt himself falling into the space that existed between sleep and wakefulness. 

Deadpool kept talking. “Huh. I don’t think that’s a good sign. Where’s the nurse that scares the poop outta me? Her stitches look unnecessarily painful…and that turns me on.” He slung Hawkeye’s least battered arm around his neck and scooped him up. 

Clint groaned and hiccuped something wet and slimy on Deadpool’s cheek. “Again, yuck. This suit doesn’t get washed. Do you think I have time to do laundry? Don’t get me started on Blind Al. She doesn’t separate whites and colors. How rude.” 

He never shut up. If Clint thought he could get away with shooting him…he would consider it. Maybe a tranquilizer dart would dim his energy. Although with his experimentation, Wade would probably mutate into something more powerful. “That segregationist boomer is always complaining about the smell. But don’t you think the dried brain matter is part of the charm?” 

Then again, the whole walking thing was out of the question considering Clint couldn’t keep his eyes open. He wouldn’t be able to find his way to any of the Defender’s places or Stark Tower. 

He shuddered at the last option. It probably didn’t have to do with the blood loss. His worst nightmare was to have to work in an office. His phone should be nestled in the false bottom of the quiver. Was he still wearing the damn thing? Clint’s arms were made of pins and needles. 

“Is it in your prison wallet?” He stage-whispered. “A smart phone would be very impressive.” 

Clint drifted in and out of awareness. “Huh?” He mumbled. Apparently, he had been speaking. The hearing aids were for sure broken. Good thing Wade didn’t need another physical person to have an actual conversation. 

Deadpool continued to talk as he texted on Clint’s phone. How did he know the passcode? Shit. He’d have to change that. “You know…the universal pocket for dudes of all genders. I wish I could wear a bra. So practical for storage…it could hold candy, knives, a pager, all the essentials.” 

“You…you’re crazy.” 

“You’re crazy. You’re human. Why the hell are you with the Avengers, Grandpa? You got a death wish? I mean, she’s a sexy temptress. But your storylines are confusing for a hero. And this universe has WandaVision. You need ‘shrooms to understand that content.” 

“Gimme the kitty.” Exhaustion was catching up with him. He needed to snuggle something, Wade Wilson’s illegal space pet be damned. 

“Not a cat.” Deadpool opened his mouth, not literally, but the sharp inhale of breath cued Clint into the possibility of a big-ass rant. 

“I wanna hug.” He slurred. Pain and fatigue threatened to drown him. He needed Laura. The girls’ hugs were the best medicine. From Nat too. Although she’d definitely smack him first. Then she’d drink tea with Laura and they would watch him sleep until there was a certainty he wouldn’t stop breathing. That was the love of a family. 

Deadpool stopped walking and embraced Hawkeye like a kid in need of a band-aid or squishy ice pack. “Aw. I knew you loved me.” 

“I have a wife.” Laura always knew when he had dumpster-based adventures. One of the defenders usually tattled, Jessica took a perverse pleasure in seeing Clint uncomfortable. 

Ultimately, Laura wouldn’t stay mad for long. But she would make him squirm for a bit. Until she gave into feeling grateful and relieved that his stupid ass hadn’t managed to actually die. 

This time. 

“No problemo.” Deadpool nuzzled the top of Clint’s head with what he assumed to be his masked nose. “Does she like tacos? If she doesn’t, that’s a deal breaker.” 

Right. That’s what would be wrong with the potential hook-up. Not the fact that he actively murdered people. At least Castle had the decently to operate in the shadows of the NYC. 

Wade used social media more effectively than most YouTubers. Pepper begrudgingly admitted that he mastered her preferred outlet. 

To his complete horror, Clint heard the click of the camera. Lovely. “I’m tagging this #sexyarcherindistress” 

***


End file.
